Blown to Bits; or, The Lonely Man of Rakata by R. M. Ballantyne (suggested reading txt) 📖

might have added with no heart at all, if what he said o' the scoundrel was true, for he behaved with horrible cruelty to the crew o' the barque. After takin' all he wanted out of his prize he scuttled her, and then divided the people that were saved alive between the two junks. There were several passengers in the vessel; among them a young man—a widower—with a little daughter, four year old or so. He was bound for Calcutta. Being a very powerful man he fought like a lion to beat the pirates off, but he was surrounded and at last knocked down by a blow from behind. Then his arms were made fast and he was sent wi' the rest into the biggest junk.

"This poor fellow recovered his senses about the time the pirates were dividin' the prisoners among them. He seemed dazed at first, so said the Lascar, but as he must have bin in a considerable funk himself I suspect his observations couldn't have bin very correct. Anyhow, he said he was sittin' near the side o' the junk beside this poor man, whose name he never knew, but who seemed to be an Englishman from his language, when a wild scream was heard in the other junk. It was the little girl who had caught sight of her father and began to understand that she was going to be separated from him. At the sound o' her voice he started up, and, looking round like a wild bull, caught sight o' the little one on the deck o' the other junk, just as they were hoistin' sail to take advantage of a breeze that had sprung up.

"Whether it was that they had bound the man with a piece o' bad rope, or that the strength o' Samson had been given to him, the Lascar could not tell, but he saw the Englishman snap the rope as if it had bin a bit o' pack-thread, and jump overboard. He swam for the junk where his little girl was. If he had possessed the strength of a dozen Samsons it would have availed him nothin', for the big sail had caught the breeze and got way on her. At the same time the other junk lay over to the same breeze and the two separated. At first the one-eyed pirate jumped up with an oath and fired a pistol shot at the Englishman, but missed him. Then he seemed to change his mind and shouted in bad English, with a diabolical laugh—'Swim away; swim hard, p'raps you kitch 'im up!' Of course the two junks were soon out of sight o' the poor swimmer—and that was the end of him, for, of course, he must have been drowned."

"But what of the poor little girl?" asked Nigel, whose feelings were easily touched by the sorrows of children, and who began to have a suspicion of what was coming.

"I'm just comin' to that. Well, the gun-boat that went to look for the pirates sighted one o' the junks out in the Indian Ocean after a long search and captured her, but not a single one o' the barque's crew was to be found in her, and it was supposed they had been all murdered and thrown overboard wi' shots tied to their feet to sink them. Enough o' the cargo o' the British barque was found, however, to convict her, and on a more careful search bein' made, the little girl was discovered, hid away in the hold. Bein' only about four year old, the poor little thing was too frightened to understand the questions put to her. All she could say was that she wanted 'to go to father,' and that her name was Kathy, probably short for Kathleen, but she could not tell."

"Then that is the girl who is now here?" exclaimed Nigel.

"The same, lad. The gun-boat ran in here, like as we did, to have some slight repairs done, and Kathy was landed. She seemed to take at once to motherly Mrs. Holbein, who offered to adopt her, and as the captain of the gun-boat had no more notion than the man-in-the-moon who the child belonged to, or what to do with her, he gladly handed her over, so here she has been livin' ever since. Of course attempts have been made to discover her friends, but without success, and now all hope has been given up. The poor girl herself never speaks on the subject, but old Holbein and his wife tell me she is sure that Kathy has never forgotten her father. It may be so; anyhow, she has forgotten his name—if she ever knew it."

Next day Nigel made no objections to being guided to the most picturesque spots among the coral isles by the interesting orphan girl. If she had been older he might even have fallen in love with her, an event which would have necessitated an awkward modification of the ground-work of our tale. As it was, he pitied the poor child sincerely, and not only—recognising her genius—asked her advice a good deal on the subject of art, but—recognising also her extreme youth and ignorance—volunteered a good deal of advice in exchange, quite in a paternal way!

CHAPTER IV. NIGEL UNDERGOES SOME QUITE NEW AND INTERESTING EXPERIENCES.

The arrangements made on the following day turned out to be quite in accordance with the wishes and tastes of the various parties concerned.

The ship's carpenter having been duly set to work on the repairs, and being inspected in that serious piece of prosaic business by the second mate, our captain was set free to charm the very souls of the juveniles by wandering for miles along the coral strand inventing, narrating, exaggerating to his heart's content. Pausing now and then to ask questions irrelevant to the story in hand, like a wily actor, for the purpose of intensifying the desire for more, he would mount a block of coral, and thence, sometimes as from a throne, or platform, or pulpit, impress some profound piece of wisdom, or some thrilling point, or some exceedingly obvious moral on his followers open-mouthed and open-eyed.

These were by no means idlers, steeped in the too common business of having nothing to do. No, they had regularly sought and obtained a holiday from work or school; for all the activities of social and civilised life were going on full swing—fuller, indeed, than the average swing—in that remote, scarcely known, and beautiful little gem of the Indian Ocean.

Meanwhile Nigel and Kathy, with sketch-books under their arms, went down to where the clear waters of the lagoon rippled on the white sand, and, launching a cockleshell of a boat, rowed out toward the islets.

"Now, Kathy, you must let me pull," said Nigel, pushing out the sculls, "for although the captain tells me you are very good at rowing, it would never do for a man, you know, to sit lazily down and let himself be rowed by a girl."

"Very well," said Kathy, with a quiet and most contented smile, for she had not yet reached the self-conscious age—at least, as ages go in the Cocos-Keeling Islands! Besides, Kathy was gifted with that charming disposition which never objects to anything—anything, of course, that does not involve principle!

But it was soon found that, as the cockleshell had no rudder, and the intricacies they had to wind among were numerous, frequent directions and corrections were called for from the girl.

"D' you know," said Nigel at last, "as I don't know where you want me to go to, it may be as well, after all, that you should row!"

"Very well," said Kathy, with another of her innocent smiles. "I thinked it will be better so at first."

Nigel could not help laughing at the way she said this as he handed her the sculls.

She soon proved herself to be a splendid boatwoman, and although her delicate and shapely arms were as mere pipe-stems to the great brawny limbs of her companion, yet she had a deft, mysterious way of handling the sculls that sent the cockleshell faster over the lagoon than before.

"Now, we go ashore here," said Kathy, turning the boat,—with a prompt back-water of the left scull, and a vigorous pull of the right one,—into a little cove just big enough to hold it.

The keel went with such a plump on the sand, that Nigel, who sat on a forward thwart with his back landward, reversed the natural order of things by putting his back on the bottom of the boat and his heels in the air.

To this day it is an unsettled question whether this was done on purpose by Kathy. Certain it is that she did not tumble, but burst into a hearty fit of laughter, while her large lustrous eyes half shut themselves up and twinkled.

"Why, you don't even apologise, you dreadful creature!" exclaimed Nigel, joining in the laugh, as he picked himself up.

"Why should I 'pologise?" asked the girl, in the somewhat broken English acquired from her adopted family. "Why you not look out?"

"Right, Kathy, right; I'll keep a sharp lookout next time. Meanwhile I will return good for evil by offering my hand to help you a—hallo!"

While he spoke the girl had sprung past him like a grasshopper, and alighted on the sand like a butterfly.

A few minutes later and this little jesting fit had vanished, and they were both engaged with pencil and book, eagerly—for both were enthusiastic—sketching one of the most enchanting scenes that can well be imagined. We will not attempt the impossible. Description could not convey it. We can only refer the reader's imagination to the one old, hackneyed but expressive, word—fairyland!

One peculiarly interesting point in the scene was, that on the opposite side of the lagoon the captain could be seen holding forth to his juvenile audience.

ART ON THE KEELING ISLANDS

When a pretty long time had elapsed in absolute silence, each sketcher being totally oblivious of the other, Nigel looked up with a long sigh, and said:—

"Well, you have chosen a most exquisite scene for me. The more I work at it, the more I find to admire. May I look now at what you have done?"

"Oh yes, but I have done not much. I am slow," said the girl, as Nigel rose and looked over her shoulder.

"Why!—what—how beautiful!—but—but—what do you mean?" exclaimed the youth.

"I don't understand you," said the girl, looking up in surprise.

"Why, Kathy, I had supposed you were drawing that magnificent landscape all this time, and—and you've only been drawing a group of shells. Splendidly done, I admit, but why——"

He stopped at that moment, for her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"Forgive me, dear child," said Nigel, hurriedly; "I did not intend to hurt your feelings. I was only surprised at your preference."

"You have not hurt me," returned Kathy in a low voice, as she resumed her work, "but what you say calls back to me—my father was very fond of shells."

She stopped, and Nigel, blaming himself for having inadvertently touched some tender chord, hastened, somewhat clumsily, to change the subject.

"You draw landscape also, I doubt not?"

"Oh yes—plenty. If you come home to me to-night, I will show you some."

"I shall be only too happy," returned the youth, sitting down again to his sketch, "and perhaps I may be able to give you a hint or two—especially in reference to perspective—for I've had regular training, you know, Kathy, and I dare say you have not had that here."

"Not what you will think much, perhaps, yet I have study a little in school, and very much from Nature."

"Well, you have been under the best of masters," returned Nigel, "if you have studied much from Nature. And who has been your other teacher?"

"A brother of Mr. Ross. I think he must understand very much. He was an engineer, and has explained to me the rules of perspective, and many other things which were at first very hard to understand. But I do see them now."

"Perhaps then, Kathleen," said Nigel, in that drawling, absent tone in which artists are apt to indulge when busy at work—"perhaps you may be already too far advanced to require instruction from me."

"Perhaps—but I think no, for you seems to understand a great deal. But why you call me Kathleen just now?"

"Because I suppose that is your real name—Kathy being the short for it. Is it not so?"

"Well, p'raps it is. I have hear mother Holbein say so once. I like Kathleen best."

"Then, may I call you Kathleen?"

"If you like."

At this point both artists had become so engrossed in their occupation that they ceased to converse, and for a considerable time profound silence reigned—at least on their part, though not as regarded others, for every now and then